5. 𝔽𝕀𝔽𝕋𝕐
Lusen's grip around the handle of the bread knife tightened as the continuous sounds of pulse rifles charging in the dark continued to echo through the halls. The red, fluorescent lights reflecting out of the chambers of the hidden pulse rifles stood out from every dark crevice of the room, like red, taunting glowsticks looming in the dark, preparing for their first move.
Suddenly, the ground shook with great intensity, catching everyone off guard, as a new platform rose from below the ground, at the center of the hall. There stood a large, raised wooden platform, as more tiles began to unlock, rising, and revealing more platforms and ladders leading towards the center.
Lusen stared at the sights unfolding in front of him, as he could not help but think, "A simulation of Overgrief?"
Loud, deafening crashes could then be heard, as the sounds of releasing chains rumbled the halls from above, dropping more platforms, reminiscent of mineshafts, suspended in the air by steel chains, all while the lights remained off.
Despite the scene, no one dared to lay a finger on the structures, unsure of what to do or commit to, until a cue was fired.
The loud sound of a whizzing, searing pulse rifle charge could be heard, with a bright light bolt of red, as the sound of a round making contact with flesh echoed, coupled with the screams of dread.
"He's been shot! Shot!"
The room quickly began to fill with panic, as footsteps flooded every inch of the area. Lusen looked around, as the silhouettes of pulse rifles and the lined-up red lights stood, ready for continuous volley fire like a sick reenactment of war.
The panic began to fill the atmosphere as men scattered around, struggling to find safety within the long, narrow banquet. The sounds of rifle bolts zipped through the air, narrowly missing some and brutally hitting others. Lusen's only source of light was the splatters of limp rounds and the fluorescent flashes of the bolts traveling across the wind. Man, after man, bodies began to fall, spasming and paralyzed.
"Ladders! Get to the ceiling!" one man cried, as everyone began piling up on each other, climbing the steps of the ladders.
Lusen followed quickly close behind, narrowly dodging a limp bolt and heading straight to the ladder closest to him.
He tucked the bread knife deep in his vest as he struggled to gain footing on the ladder because of the lack of light. Each step was covered in grime, sweat, and the smell of those who had already climbed before him.
A man, six steps above him, groaned in pain as he was shot on the side by a limp round, causing him to brutally plummet back down the ladder, followed by silence. As he fell, the fluorescent fragments on his body gave just enough light for Lusen to catch the other step. "What? I thought we couldn't die!" he thought to himself.
Lusen continued to climb as he made an effort to block out all memories of his days at the Eastern Front Trenches. He shook his head from side-to-side as he caught glimpses of other desperate men attempting to climb the broad ladders.
The climb felt like it lasted hours, as Lusen struggled more and more to focus on surviving, as the climb felt like a drag. "Damn it! This is just the first platform!" he thought to himself, swaying his head, until he caught a peculiar glimpse.
Down below, a glowing red line stared up into his soul. Lusen's grip began to falter under the pressure as he attempted to unsheath his knife from his tight grip vest, until the line changed directions, paying attention to a group of loud, hostile men charging toward their area.
Lusen continued his climb, not allowing himself to get sidetracked further, until the loud crashes of wood and furniture could be heard from the ground.
Lusen stared back down the area of the red light, horrified to see the scene it had caused.
The men in the room, stuck on the ground floors, grew bolder, as some attempted to charge the guards with whatever furniture and objects left they could find.
The men scrambled to gather forks, knives, chairs, scraps of wood, but most forsaken, as the guard who had stared down into his soul blasted through every one of them, leaving puddles of luminescent red, revealing the bodies of three men, limp, motionless on the ground.
Realizing that he does not have much time, Lusen quickened his pace until he reached the top of the first platform.
Here, he found more men, suspended in disbelief. The path to the second platform was a binding, unstable, swaying bridge, where Lusen laid his eyes on men struggling to cross, and falling off after being shot.
Lusen froze in fear, unsure of what to do, just like all the men around him. For now, the platform offered enough coverage and protection from the bolts, but the winding, narrow bridge offered the opposite.
It was a race against time and survival, until a voice rang from the ladder below.
Lusen and a few others peered down the ladder, catching a glimpse of a tired, frail, and panicked man. The loss of light made it hard to distinguish his expression, but the glares of bolts lit up his large, bulging, fearful eyes.
"Move you idiots! Move!" the man yelled as he climbed. "They're climbing onto the platforms!"
Below the man, auras of luminescent red could be seen, as well as glimpses of the dark uniforms of the armed guards.
"Move, move, move it!" Lusen yelled to the men next to him. "They're coming! They're here!"
Lusen peered back down to the ladder, only to see the frail man's body, spasming on the deep ground. Above that, he caught a glimpse of a rifleman making his way up the ladder.
With fierce indignation, Lusen took off, breaking through the slow lines of men trudging their way over to the winding, dark, and hanging bridge.
"Pick up your pace, they're right behind us-" Lusen was cut off, as the sounds of pulse bolts flew throughout the air, forcing those who once stood behind him to violently spasm on the platform.
Lusen ran, fueled on adrenaline and fear, pushing any man who stood in front of him. He could hear the screams of the less fortunate and weak behind him, as he continued to dash behind the lines, and soon, he was finally faced with the winding bridge.
Lusen stared up to the ceiling, by the final layers of suspended platforms, as he saw men being pushed from above, and plummeting below.
"What?" he thought to himself, but he did not stop moving.
Bolts flew throughout the entire hall as he stood by the front of the bridge, wondering what his next move should be.
Suddenly, he heard a loud thump land beside him, the body of a paralyzed man still tinted red from a bolt, as his eyes still screamed of torture.
"Can you lift a man?" a voice rose from behind him, as Lusen turned.
His stature was large and tall, as he carried the body of another motionless man behind him.
"I'm not sure, but I can try," Lusen talked back reluctantly.
"The bridge leaves us exposed. You and I walk side by side across the bridge. Carry this man by your front. The rounds mark, but do not pierce. Use him."
"Use him?" Lusen asked himself. He hadn't used his comrades as meatshields before, but he had no time to think, as the man had already begun his trek across the bridge.
Lusen used whatever strength he had to pull up the paralyzed man, as he dragged the man's lower half, speeding up his pace to catch up with the man ahead of him.
Now, Lusen and the other man stood back to back, protecting their fronts with their bodies in front of them, as they slowly made their way through the bridge.
Lusen could feel the force of the limp rounds impacting the man in front of him, yet felt relieved that he was not the one getting hit.
"Make sure to cover most of yourself," the man behind him remarked. "Even a few drops can get you."
"Who even are you?" Lusen asked, as he could hear both of their laboured breaths, as they started to feel tired.
"Lusen Appertha, that's you, am I right?" the man asked. "The one who pounced on the Ambassador and somehow avoided getting shot?"
"Yes," Lusen replied, struggling to catch his breath.
"Hah! The Ambassador was right, you're brave." The man looked towards the horizon, measuring the distance they still needed to cover. "We're a quarter of the way there!"
"Yes, but who are you?"
"Jean Allen, you may already know me."
"Ambassador, two men by the first bridge," the robed man pointed towards the monitor, informing Prowell.
"I see. Wonderful observation, Lischan, can you identify who those men are?"
The robed man, Lischan, approached his console as we adjusted the brightness of the hidden camera present in the banquet, just enough to see the faces of the two men.
"Ambassador, two men utilizing paralyzed subjects for protection. The first, Jean Allen of the Ilustan company, and Lusen Appertha of RintGard.
Prowell could feel a large smile brewing on his lower face, one that evoked excitement and honor.
"Perfect."